


Null and Void

by laughingalonewithducks



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, okay when i say this is melkor/sauron i'm lying there really isn't much of it i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingalonewithducks/pseuds/laughingalonewithducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manwë was fairly sure that, despite the ever-constant nature of his physical form, his hair had actually changed colour. Where before it had been a brilliant blue-white that implied divinity and all that came with it, it was now the translucent grey-white generally found in the very old or the very stressed.</p><p>He blamed Melkor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Null and Void

**Author's Note:**

> remember that one tumblr post that was like 'imagine melkor making puns at the valar and everyone being too shocked/horrified to do anything'
> 
> well i imagined it

It was quite a sight. Despite the Door to the Void standing at his back, and the rest of the Valar standing in front of him, trying to look as stern and as righteous as possible, Melkor still managed to project an air of nonchalance.

The façade wasn't perfect, though, and from where he was standing, Manwë could see the cracks in it rather clearly. He felt guilty, sort of - the sheer emptiness of the Void was terrifying - but every time he moved to reduce Melkor's sentence, another Vala would point at Mandos' halls and remind him that yes, actually, Melkor really needed some time in the naughty corner.

There was also a general desire to see Sauron sentenced the same way, but the Maia had disappeared off to somewhere, and no-one really felt he was enough of a threat to leave Valinor for. 

And anyway, Eonwë had said he'd repented. Sort of.

~~~

Somewhere in the Pelóri mountains, Sauron was swearing. Loudly, and at great length, and entirely unheeding of the several mountain goats who had followed him and were learning all sorts of interesting things from the strange creature that also seemed to be a mountain goat, only on fire.

Sauron slipped on another rock and began to expound at length upon the private lives of the Valar and the twisted thinking that led to setting the sort of semi-permeable barrier that was only permeable to mountain goats (and certain creatures that presently looked an awful lot like them) on the top of an extremely crumbly mountain range.

(He wasn't _too_ upset with them, though, because they had conveniently forgotten to apply the same restrictions to creatures _leaving_ Valinor, thus making his mission significantly easier.)

He was going to find Melkor, and rescue him, and then punch him repeatedly in the face for making him haul ass across half of Arda looking like a sentient rug.

~~~

The Door swung open slowly, doing its best to wail and shriek and scream in the way that, it felt, all important Doors should. 

(Being one of the first Doors, it had strong opinions on proper behaviour as befitting a Door, and being one of the first Doors, it felt that said opinions should be as gospel to the younger Doors who, disappointingly, had collectively decided that shrieks of agony were far too cliché for 'the modern day'.)

Manwë drew himself up to his full height, pretended not to notice Varda's pointed comment about 'heeled boots', and approached his brother. 

"Melkor," he boomed, "the hour of your sentencing is upon you. Have you any last words?"

~~~

The mountain goats who had followed Sauron watched with interest as, finally having passed the barrier, their fellow goat leaped off a particularly high rock, grew wings and talons in midair, and winged his way furiously towards a bright spot in the sky several miles away, swearing all the while. 

A few of them eyed the rocks beneath their feet and wondered whether flying was the sort of thing you could only do if you were on fire too, or if it was a talent universal to mountain goats and they just hadn't discovered it yet.

~~~

Melkor raised his chained hands pleadingly. "Manwë," he entreated, "my brother. Surely this is too severe a punishment? Your precious Arda still stands; I was not _too_ destructive."

There was a general murmur of dissent from the Valar that had assembled around the Door. 

" _'Not too destructive'_ , he says," sniffed Námo from somewhere behind Tulkas. "My halls are full to _bursting_ with dead elves, and he says he _wasn't too destructive!_ " 

Melkor shrugged. "Well. Regardless, is there not _some_ way to..." he hesitated, "...a _void_ this?" 

Silence fell, in much the same way as a piano falls from a third-story balcony: heavily, and with a great deal of shock and horror on the part of the bystanders. There was a muffled snicker from Vána's general direction. 

Manwë opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Did you just-" he began, only to be cut off as some sort of possessed rug with wings swooped down from the previously winged-terror-free sky and carried Melkor off. 

~~~ 

Melkor squinted up at the flying clump of hair. "...Sauron?" he tried. "It _is_ you, yes? I, ah, can't tell. There's too much hair." 

" _Yes_ , it's me, and the hair is all _your_ fault, so shut up about it," the hairball-that-was-Sauron snapped. 

"I don't recall asking you to-" 

"What," Sauron interrupted, sounding rather hurt, "did you think I would just leave you? What do you take me for, a _mortal?_ Have some faith, Melkor, really." 

"...oh. Right." Melkor watched the ground pass under them as Sauron flew back towards what was left of Middle-Earth. 

Then he perked up. "Hey! Elves! I dare you to shit on them. They're like, right there. Right under us." 

"Melkor, I will _drop_ you." 

"If you won't, I will." 

~~~ 

The Council was in uproar. It had been from the moment Melkor had escaped. Half the Council were berating each other for overlooking Sauron, the other half were advocating the immediate launch of a hunting party, and all of them appeared to be competing to see who could shout the loudest and the most uselessly at the same time. 

Manwë stared at the Door and wondered how displeased Ilúvatar would be if he started the Dagor Dagorath early. 

~~~ 

"Generally, damsels in distress tend to show their gratitude towards their handsome rescuers in ways that _don't_ involve threatening to start another war with the Valar by shitting on their precious elves." 

"I am grateful. I am _extremely_ grateful. Get rid of that hair, and my chains, and I'll show you just _how_ grateful I really am," Melkor promised, in the sort of voice that left absolutely no room for misinterpretation and nearly made Sauron perform a spectacular nosedive into the ocean. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Null and Void - fanfiction scene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266157) by [Nordra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordra/pseuds/Nordra)




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